Fliers' Right
by Insomiak
Summary: Harry is forced to teach at Hogwarts.  Being attacked routinely by Malfoy makes it so much worse - or at least it should.  But there's this THING happening where Malfoy might be making it better. Drarry. Ignores the epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: I am not from the UK, so my use of 'British English' is faulty. The rating is M for later. Romance will be slow. Um. I don't own anything. Except Hoover, I suppose, but she's not so hot. Updates will be whenever I have time (but the next four chapters are done!)

I am damn well in love with drarry.

* * *

><p>Prologue<br>_Incarserus_.

* * *

><p>It was dark and hot in the cellar of <em>Mungdanger's Awfulaties<em>. The long summer had heated the rotted wood under Harry's palms, and he could feel it squash up between his stiff fingers. He was lying on his stomach under a shifty rack of wooden coffins. He'd been lying there for over six hours. The floor boards smudged up against his grimy cheeks smelt of candle wax, old batteries (like what used to be in that one drawer at the Dursley's, alkali lining the bottom, acidic), and dried blood. His back was soaked in a heavy lining of sweat, made thicker by the dust stuck in the air. His breathing was shallow. It had to be. The air wasn't safe, he could feel it clogging in chest. There wasn't a lot of room between the floor under him and the shelves above him; he had to suck his stomach in and keep his cheek flat on the ground.

He was keeping quiet, had to. His target was going to show up sometime tonight. Here to pick up a package. A brown box sitting on a table across the basement of _Mungdanger's_. Harry had both of green eyes locked onto it with a tricky spell he'd learned during his first year of work. It was one of the few spells that would take effect in the cellar. He'd jinxed it magic-retardant, to ensure the arrest of his villain.

This was it. After two full years of hunting this arsehole, Harry was finally going to catch R. J. Hoover, better known as Blood Hound. Out of all the criminals Harry had ever tracked as an Auror, Blood Hound had been the most annoying, always staying more than two steps ahead of Harry. He'd never gotten a decent look at her face, not in all the years he'd been after her. Only a quick dash of red eyes and deep scars. But Harry knew her walk, the way she carried herself, and could follow her trail with without magic. Ever since the first day he'd started field work, Harry had been chasing Hoover's coattails. Tonight was going to be the last time.

He'd set it all up perfectly. He knew how badly Blood Hound wanted that package, whatever it was, because he'd been chasing her around the entire world as she hunted for it. Whatever was inside the box was magical; had to be because it would often vanish to Somewhere Else. Plopping itself down on some other table or in the cargo hall of some ship anywhere in the world, and Harry would start his search all over again. He'd gone chasing mad after over one-hundred Somewhere Elses, searching for the package Blood Hound was searching for, hoping to hex her frozen. It was never that easy. She was clever.

This time - _this time_ - Harry was going to catch her. Blood Hound would get her hands around that package, relief and greedy accomplishment would light her eyes, and then three seconds later Harry would get his hands on Blood Hound.

There was a thump from upstairs and Harry's chest flipped. Some gruff mumbling about magic not working. It didn't matter. Harry shifted his body a bit, heart beating quickly, blood building up behind his ears. This was it, this was really it. He held his breath and waited.

Heavy footsteps pounded on the rickety stairs, dirt scattering down after them. It was her, Harry could tell by the way the floor shook. He swallowed a dusty gob of spit and clenched his tired muscles, hands pressed flat to the floor.

"Malungus is gonna pay," Hoover said, and now Harry knew for sure, "Relocating spell, shit…"

She grabbed the box and headed back up the stairs.

Harry only had a few seconds. The moment Hoover was outside, she'd apparate as far away as she liked, and Harry would be back at square one. He couldn't let that happen, Devlin would never let him do another serious case again if he screwed this up. And Harry loved being an Auror, the rush and the purpose it gave him, the traveling, adventure, and, though he hated to admit it, it fed his apparently insatiable need to be a hero. Killing the baddest wizard in the world hadn't been enough to sate him. He had to keep on caching the bad guy. Over and over.

As soon as Hoover was at the top of the stairs, Harry pulled himself from under the shelves of coffins. He placed his feet carefully onto the steps, wishing he could lighten himself as to not make a sound, but his spell on the shop made most magic useless. He was going to have to catch Hoover outside, just before she disappeared. Working alone sometimes had drawbacks; if Harry had a partner, they could be waiting outside for Hoover. As it were, however, Harry had to hide inside where she couldn't use his dark magic to sense him, and now he was at a huge disadvantage. But that was okay. Harry liked the thrill of it.

Six more steps and she'd be outside. _ Come on come on_, he thought, biting his lip hard. The night air was cool for the end of summer, Harry could feel it winding around his nose. It was nice, but he ignored it and focused. His eyes locked on Blood Hound's back.

Three steps…

Two…

One.

The second his feet hit the grass, Harry raised his wand to the black night and whispered, "_Incarserus_."

Ropes shot out, but something wasn't right. They hit Blood Hound as if she were a stone wall. Harry had just enough time to become very worried before Hoover's entire body turned into a puff of light, cloudy smoke. The ropes fell to the dry grass. Harry immediately set his back against the shop's front wall, alert.

He could go back inside the shop, but then there was nothing stopping Hoover from leaving. Shit, _shit_ he was getting pissed off, which wasn't good. Anger was an easy way to screw everything up.

He took a deep breath. Hoover couldn't be far. She -

The earth under his feet shook. Not like it did when Hoover walked. It felt more like an earthquake. Harry steadied himself against the wall behind him, and crouched low. He knew this feeling, the odd twinge in the air. It reminded him of Sirius and McGonagall. Excitement hit him in a rush and Harry couldn't believe it! He'd suspected for years, but he couldn't believe he was right!

Blood Hound was an Animagus!

He hoped it wasn't something small, like a mouse, or fast like a lion - hopefully it was thick and slow. _A turtle_, he pleaded with the sky, trying to calm himself, _please let it be a turtle._

The air shifted again, and then became very warm. Everything looked darker too, as if something had blotted out the moon.

Oh, oh _shit_! Harry whipped his body around and took ten backwards fast steps away from the shop, eyes wide and jaw open and heart exploding out of his throat. Behind the shop, head raised like a tower to the night, was a Chinese Fireball Dragon. Oh god oh god, what the hell! Hoover shouldn't be able to transform into a _dragon_! That took a might more than just_ strong magic_! It took a stable mind. It took a good character. Something wasn't normal, something was off, and Harry was probably not going to return home to his bed tonight.

The Fireball - Blood Hound - seemed to almost smirk at him in agreement. Never mind possibility, Hoover _was_ a dragon and if Harry didn't figure something out, _fast_, he'd become The Boy Who Lived to A Point.

"Accio broom!" He shouted, and his broom flew into his hand.

It didn't matter, really. The orange light of a wordless spell crashed into him, two solid gleaming eyes staring, staring, knowing what the spell would do, knowing Harry didn't. Veins seized up inside him, stopping his blood, his heart. Something warm escaped his body like a forgotten thought. It left him cold on the ground, almost dead.

Almost.


	2. Aguamenti

**WARNING:**  
>This is gay, very gay.<br>If you don't like it,  
>go away.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter One<br>_Aguamenti_.

* * *

><p>The Entrance Hall was the same as ever. Lanky, but strong and looming, reaching up over his head as Harry walked silently along. His feet padding on the stone ground made shaky echos against the walls. It started to remind him of sneaking around the corridors at night, like he used to; he stopped thinking in that direction, knowing where it would lead. Harry picked his head up from its gaze to the floor and watched a few paintings murmur around him. He'd always wondered what being a painting felt like. Never having to eat or sleep, just exist. Was it easier? Did it even matter?<p>

He looked back down at the floor.

The odd bit wasn't being back in the school again - it was being back in the school again alone. No one was rushing around him, no fire haired twins running after an old wiry cat. That was the odd part, being here without his friends. He never for all his wondering thought he'd be back here after graduating to stay. Maybe as a visitor, a guest speaker, or (dreadfully it has crossed his mind more than once) here to investigate a crime. But not ever as a professor! He wasn't sure he could stand being in this castle again, after only five years.

Circumstances as the were however, Harry knew he'd have to stand it. He'd been canned from the Ministry for 'Reasons Undisclosed.' With that neat tag strapped onto his record, getting a new job wasn't as easy as it had been for him directly out of school. No one wanted to high the boy who'd saved the world anymore, not with his trashed record and the Ministry against him. Harry didn't like the way he thought about it, but he couldn't help his anger toward the world for its tendency to love him one second and hate him the next, based only on a few offhanded lines in the papers. The one person who hadn't paid any mind to the news in the Prophet - besides he close friends - was Professor McGonagall.

"Er, Headmistress," Harry corrected himself out loud. She'd given him this job probably most out of pity, but he liked to think it was because of his experience fighting dark wizards and witches. Either way, he wasn't up for complaining. He needed work or he'd be asking to sleep at The Burrow. Molly Weasley wasn't too pleased with him at the present moment. He'd rather not. And teaching might be alright, he lied blatantly to himself as he had done so many times in the past few months, he could learn to enjoy it. Stuck in a stuff classroom - for hours - in one corner - for hours.

Who was he trying to fool? He knew the moment he'd sat down last month at the orientation meeting that he was going to hate it. The Headmistress, Slughorn, Pomfrey, Sprout, Neville and a great many other professors had sat around a wide table, discussing concerns and rules and dates and events… it had all sounded dreadful to Harry. Just the hearing of a full year of being locked in these old walls had made his heart sink.

Today was the first day of actual classes. He'd been to a great deal of meetings - mostly because he was new and the Headmistress wanted to make certain he was prepared. But Harry couldn't feel any less prepared at the moment.

He stopped in front of the classroom door. He was a little upset about being in the dungeons, especially this particular one. Harry brought his fingers up to the wood, and traced the black metal designs along it. It was horribly familiar. It reminded him of Snape and Slytherins and everything else about the happy part of his past - his normal days at school - that he didn't like. Harry could practically hear Snape's drawl telling him, 'Potter will you please _pay attention_?' Followed by a pompous snicker...

Harry pushed the memories down and walked into his old Potions classroom.

All of the work tables were empty. It dawned on him that it made very little sense to hold Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons in a classroom so clearly equipped for Potions. It must be because he's new. Doesn't get the nice rooms because he's new. No special treatment anymore. (_That_, Logic started, _or it's because the school is well over its maximum capacity of staff and students and they're just putting you where you fit_).

He knocked the awful feelings off, knowing it to be pointless, and sat at his desk. Honestly he was nervous. He didn't know the first thing about kids. He hadn't had a proper upbringing - no toys or warm smiles or hugs - how was he going to figure normal children out? But, he thought, relaxing a bit, it was a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw split class. It wouldn't be so bad, then. His own house was true and brave and respectable, and the Ravenclaws would all _want_ to learn, so it wouldn't be so bad.

There were three wraps on the dungeon's door.

Harry stood up and walked across the dark room, opening it.

"Um, hello," he said brightly to a small girl in Ravenclaw robes. "Here for Defence, then?"

She nodded quickly at him - seemed to be unsure, but opened her mouth. "Just so you know, professor, you need to unlock the door… it won't let students in unless you do."

He stepped away from it to let her inside. "Really?"

"Yes," she sat at a table near a window, though it looked into a gnome pocket in the ground and not outside. Six gnomes or were chipping away at rocks. "The Headmistress had the classrooms enchanted after Nicholas Denver caught Amanda Fletcher and Marcus Abelev…" She stopped. "Well I'm sure you can guess. I saw it coming, of course, what with the way they gawk at each other in Charms. It's mad though, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff - can you imagine anything more drab? My father always says _real_ romance requires dangerous circumstances and chaos. How on Earth can a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff have 'dangerous circumstances' I wonder? And chaos, please! I'm sure Fletcher losses her books and Abelev comes running to her with another copy, real dangerous-like…" She finished, laughing.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he asked her a question. "How do I unlock the door?"

The Ravenclaw popped some candy into her mouth. "Just the normal spell - only works from the inside though. Quite clever of the Headmistress, I think, but a bit boring. Just locks and unlocks… like a cage. If it were up to me, I'd have a giant worm hole on the inside if anyone tried to break in without the professor. It would lead directly to the Headmistress's office, after taking you a on cute tour of somewhere dreary - like the mental word in a Muggle hospital maybe. Most wizards would die of fright! At least it would be exciting. My father always says the things worth doing aren't the difficult ones - he says anything worth your time is exciting."

Again, he didn't know what to say. Harry unlocked the door and asked her another question. "What's your name?"

"Molly Gerrak, sir. I'm sure you hear this a lot - but still, there's no need to ask yours," she smiled at him and opened her note book. "My father told be about you, told me not to bother you about the war and I won't, promise sir." She wrote the date on the bottom left of a page in her book and continued. "Excited to teach Defence? I've waited all summer to take it. What are we learning today?"

Harry tried not to, but he couldn't help but see some bizarre mix of Hermione and Hermione after a fourth glass of wine. And a tad bit of someone else he wasn't going to let cross his conscious mind again; not twice during his very first day back in the castle.

Harry talked with Molly for about five minutes, before the seats began slowly filling up with nervous faces of second years. He knew they couldn't be half as worried as he was. How had his professors done this so casually everyday?

When everyone had settled in, he took a breath and stood up.

"Hello class," he said and they all seemed to be listening. His Gryffindors wouldn't let him down. "This is Defence Against the Dark Arts. If you're not here for that, you're in the wrong place." He waited and no one got up to leave. "Right then. My name is Professor Potter, but I would honestly rather be called Mister Potter if it's the same to all of you." After all, legally he wasn't really a professor. "This is my first year teaching, so we'll be learning a lot of this together - er, not spells, just, you know, classroom stuff." Bloody hell why was he always so awkward! "Anyway, let's just get started…"

He went through their names one by one to learn them, and then asked them to clear the desks to the sides of the classroom. He explained that he'd aways disliked text books and sitting at a table reading them. Besides, it was defence against the dark arts, not defence against words on paper. A few students seemed to find this comment either hilariously clever or so awful it was funny - he could see Molly laughing with two girls from Gryffindor over to his right.

"We'll start with something simple - " Harry said, but stopped as a small boy's hand raised into the air. "Um, yes…" He looked at his seating plan, feeling horridly bookish, "Harley?"

"I just wanted to say sir, thank you, sir, my mother says you saved the world!" He was a fast talker and had huge, gleaming eyes. It reminded Harry of Colin Creevey. "And I, well. Thank you."

Harry went a bit red and tried not to look or sound as awkward as he felt. "Um, it's alright. It - "

But Harley continued, "I could hardly believe it when my mother told me. Harry Potter, my _professor_! You must know all kinds of great spells! Dark magic, and counter charms… and the Patronous! Can we learn that? That would be fantastic!"

"Well, maybe," Harry said, "But we need to start simple. Now," He tried to move on, Merlin knows he wanted to_ move on_, but another student's hand went up. Geoffrey Fig. "Yes Mister Fig?" Harry asked, sounding to himself like Professor Snape used to, '_Yes Mister Potter?_'

"Is it true that, during your second year of school, you fed your girlfriend to a snake?"

Harry felt his face go white. "Ah, no, that's not quite - "

"No, _that's_ not it," a Ravenclaw brunette spoke up, her voice high and flighty, "That was Sirius Black, _he_ fed Ginevra Weasley to the Basilisk - "

A Gryffindor boy snorted, "Ginevra Weasley isn't dead. Shy flies for the Harpies!"

"This isn't - " Harry tried again.

"Professor," A tall girl with a long nose said, "In the Triwizard Tournament, who did you pull from the water?"

"I - " He tried, but,

"Sir why didn't you kill Voldemort _before_ the war? My mother said you had a thousand chances…"

"Are you mad? He was just a kid!"

"But he's the Chosen One! He shouldn't have stalled - !"

"Sir, sir!" A blond girl bopped in her seat, and Harry felt his head grow hotter. "I heard that Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley are going to have a baby! Is it true? Is it?"

"Emily, Hermione Granger was beheaded by Severus Snape in her sixth year - "

"Bullocks!" An Irish boy shouted, "She works for my uncle!"

"Professor Potter, do you think the Malfoy's deserve what they got? My aunt said - "

"_What_?" A boy in the back row cut her off, "Of course they deserved it! They're murderers just as much as any Death Eater!"

"Deserve what? What did they get, Professor?"

"Wasn't it - "

"Azakaban - ?

"No, no, house arrest! Just like Muggles!"

"House arrest? What's…"

With that, the entire class broke into loud, chaotic conversation about the events of Harry's life and the war. It was dizzying, and far out of his control. They were all in a wide circle, encompassing the whole room; he kept picking up key words and names that brought his memories flooding back: Stone, Dumbledore, Snitch, Chamber of Secrets, War, War, Animagnus, War, Ginny, Ginny, Heir, ect. It was like a hundred cold slaps across the cheek. How was he supposed to stop this? Should he yell?

He couldn't believe his past was following him so relentlessly. It was infuriating, being unable to escape what he'd already done. It was fine to be looked up to - but he just wanted to teach and get through this year. He wanted to go back to being an Auror who worked alone, dealt with criminals who hated him only for the fact that he wanted to drag them to Azkaban, and not because he was Harry Potter. And he felt entirely disappointed in his Gryffindors. He'd honestly thought they would have known better, that they were going to leave him alone. He's no hero anymore. Harry felt betrayed by his own house.

"I think the Ministry fired him."

"What? Why?"

"Something about a curse - "

Suddenly Harry knew what to do. Something Lupin would have done.

Amidst the screams of his twenty-three new students, he pulled out his wand and shouted, "_INCENDIO!_"

A huge burst of flame flew from him and flared to the centre of the dungeon. It danced around the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Everybody went silent instantly, letting the boom of the building fire breathe all around them. It cracked twice, turning the stone floor black. Harry flicked his wand and said, "_Agumenti_," and a rush of water smothered the fire.

"Alright," he said, setting his wand down and folding his arms. Most of the students were wiry in their seats. "We all have to get through this year together. I can see, that in order to do so, we're going to have to have a chat." He looked at them, carefully, keeping it together. "Anything you want to know about my past is available in any library. You and I are here to study Defence Against the Dark Arts, not Harry Potter's Life." Some of their faces went red and he felt guilt track up him cheeks instantly.

"So - " he paused to look down at his seating plan, trying to keep his voice strong, " - everyone between Hitchcock and Matherson," he pointed to half the circle, "will cast 'Incendio', and the rest of you, 'Agumenti'."

At least three quarters of the faces in the room went from shame to terror. They looked at him as if he'd just asked them to step off a bridge into boiling tar.

"Um, Mister Potter…" A girl with short red hair spoke up after a few nudges from her friends. She looked shy. Harry wasn't sure if it was because he'd just finished scolding them, or if she was just timid by nature. "It's just that, sir, I've never cast a spell before. You see, I'm - my parents, that is, they aren't magical, I missed first year because they didn't understand the letter, so I don't know how to cast any spells."

The redhead seemed reverently upset and apologetic. A few other students around her nodded, and one added, "Don't be harsh with her, sir, it isn't her fault."

Harry was about smile and show his understanding side; of course some Muggle-borns might miss their first year, if their parents were protective or confused. And he wanted his students to feel like they could be honest with him. He was about to do it, but a gnarlish girl beat him to the title of interlocutor.

"You mean you're a _Mudblood_!" Kelly Kingston roared, cutting Harry off. Her voice was like scratchy fire. She was across the circle from the redhead. "My uncle told me about wizards like you! Can't tell a broomstick from a cauldron!"

Harry felt something work up inside him, familiar and agitated.

"I bet you use a toaster!" She looked away from the other girl, addressing the entire class, "They're like, fires in this little box that heat bread…Crazy! Do you know what the floo network is? Or Quidditch? Or what this professor - " she pointed a long finger at Harry " - did only five years ago? About You-Know-Who - except you _don't_ know who, do you! Oh and then dragons, you've never seen a _dragon_! Oh Merlin, Mudbloods, in the same class as me, this is a nightmare…"

Harry tried to open his mouth but it wasn't working.

What should he do? What would Lupin have done?

"What's a Mudblood?" Harley asked from the far side of the dungeon.

Kingston smirked when she answered, "A witch or wizard who hasn't got magical parents. Rotten sort, Harley, you'd better stay away from her." She sniffed the air. "I wager she doesn't know _any_ spells," her hands landed on her waist like two strong ships docking, "Or any potions. Or about jinxes, Hogsmeade, _how to fly_!"

"I can fly?" The redhead asked no one in particular with wonder, but then addressed Harry, "Can you teach me, sir?"

"Of - "

"Can he teach you!" Kingston riffled with laughter, "_The_ Harry Potter, teach a _Mudblood_ how to _fly_? Are you quite right in the head?"

"That isn't - " Harry tried.

"That's right!" Harley spoke up again, "You played for the Gryffindor team, didn't you sir? I heard - "

" - youngest player in a century - "

"Since his own father - !"

"_Filthy litte Mudblood_."

That was all Harry heard. He felt himself boil. He was about to scream, explode at these children like they were the criminals he'd chased for the Ministry. He only caught a dangerous gleam in Kingston's dark eyes. He was a bit too slow to realize what it meant.

With a long smirk and a spell he didn't hear, she sent a huge wad of red fire swirling towards the redheaded girl.

Harry's heart dropped its anger and leapt into his chest. He readied his wand; but the fireball hit the terrified muggle-born student with a useless poof. It vanished into the air, harmless. She was screaming anyway.

"Kingston you prat!" The redhead shouted, swatting fake-fire away from her eyes.

The caster cackled. "What, Mudblood, scared of some fire? Can't put it out? Haven't done first year, you poor miserable thing!"

Harry was stiff with hate and fear. Something strange was happening to him.

Molly spoke up, "Kingston," she snapped, "go take a seat. Now."

"Ha! Who made you boss?" She replied, "I'd rather not, Molly. Can't let half-breeds run the classroom, you understand."

"Kingston," she said, "Come on, lay off."

The Gryffindor shook her head and looked at Harry. "You should take her wand away, sir. She might hurt someone, the ignorant dear."

"Come on," Molly was almost pleading. "Just stop."

"Or what? What's she going to do?" Kingston laughed, delighted at herself, "Send Paul Ice after me?"

The conversation was beginning to get out of hand. Harry's Gryffindor spirit had fled him, however. His mind had fallen into that dark pit of himself that was full of Sirius's death, Dobbie's death, Dumbledore's death, everything good the world took from him -

"She's just a no-good dirty backwards half-magic freak anyway, I really don't see - "

The muggle-born Ravenclaw seemed to snap. Something in the room cracked. Red delved across her jaw, and she raised her wand, spitting out her first spell.

"_Incendio_!"

A blast of fire shot across the room and smacked Kingston on the jaw. Harry didn't have time to be impressed with the power it held, but it did break him from his trance.

He was next to Kingston in a beat.

She howled as the fire ripped through her skin, burring a solid red hole into her cheek. She brought her hands onto it, but it hurt and she screamed again and Harry worked as quickly as he could, spraying water down her head. Her eyes were wet with rage and tears.

"YOU SODDING MUDBLOOD!" She screamed, but then winced as it tore the hole in her face open. "I am going to murder you in your bed!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"No! You tore a hole though my cheek!"

"Want another?"

"Professor get her away! She's sick!"

"Shut it, Kingston!"

"YOU shut it, Regina!"

Harry didn't know what to do. What had just happened to him? He had been frozen stiff, stuck rumbling through bad memories. Merlin, he'd taken down a dark lord! Why'd he freeze up? It was just a few students, just second years.

"Sir," Molly said, "If you like, I can take Kingston to the hospital wing."

Brilliant, he thought, a twelve year old is saving me, great, alright. "Yes, thank you Molly."

She grabbed Kingston's arm in a death-grip, pulling her away while Regina continued to shout back at her.

Harry took a deep breath.

"That's enough for today, I think. I'll see you all tomorrow."

They all filed out, half of them shocked and the rest excited to finally have an interesting class.

* * *

><p>Harry fell behind his desk and thought he might pitch himself in the lake.<p>

He didn't though. Instead, after explaining what had happened in his class to Madame Pomfrey, Harry had wandered back to his room to go over tomorrow's lesson. That's what he'd told himself, and honestly that's what he'd intended to do, but. Well. His mind kept slipping to something else, a different kind of work he'd been half doing since the Ministry had canned him. He really shouldn't even be contemplating it.

So Harry was sort of glad when his fire burst into green flames and the Headmistress's face glared at him.

"Potter," she said, fire cracking, "A word."

Her eyes were just as sharp as they'd been when he'd first seen her twelve years ago, even in the green fire. Instinctively, Harry felt like he'd done something very very wrong. Her thin lips were pressed in a flat line. She looked altogether the same as she always had, the only difference being a few extra wrinkles. Undoubtedly, he, Ron, and Hermione had caused a good deal of them.

"Hellu Headmistress," he said, "How are you?"

"I am very well. Now," she said, straight to the point, "Poppy tells me you were having difficulties in your class today." He could tell from her tone - one he knew perfectly well - that we was about to really get it. "When a student misbehaves to the extent that Kingston and Regina did, you are meant to discipline them. If you do not, they will continue to act up, and you will find yourself in a terrible bind."

"Yes, I know Ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you? Then perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining to me why you let them off without punishment? Or even a small _warning_?"

Harry gripped the arms of the green chair he was sitting in. How could he tell her? 'They brought up my past and I got scared!' He doubted that would get him anywhere. Except maybe a meeting in her office, or a train ticket home. It was true though. He'd been scared.

"I don't know, Headmistress." He tried to look sorry. He _was_ sorry. "I just…"

She seemed to sense it. "Potter, I know you miss your job with the Ministry. But you can be an excellent professor, I know it." She might've gave him a warm smile, or it might've been the bending light of the fire. "Try again tomorrow - don't give up. I know they asked you a million questions that they should not have asked you."

He nodded and said he would try again.

"Also, you must give those two girls detention. They each have the afternoon off on Tuesdays, so tomorrow should suffice."

"Detention?" He said, a bit in shock, "I can't give detentions. Can't someone else?"

"No Harry," McGonagall said, maybe a little amuse but mostly annoyed, "They disrupted _your_ class, _you_ have to punish them."

Harry blinked into the fire. "Uh," he said, "What do I do?"

She sighed, "Really. I've assigned you detention a hundred times at least… you should have some ideas. Make them write lines, weed the garden, it makes no difference - maybe something clever like Longbottom - but it must be done."

She bid him goodnight and then she was gone.

"Right," he mumbled, "I'm a git, right."

He really should have known. He really should have tried harder. That class, his first class, couldn't have gone any worse. On top of the parade of personal questions and mini-dual between two girls who obviously were not going to get along, he hadn't even gotten around to teaching anything! His first day of teaching, and he hadn't taught. All he'd done was land a student in the hospital wing (she was sort of asking for it, his mind rang); likely scared most of them, having scorched the floor and told them all to shut up about his past; and then fallen into his own head like a mental case.

What had that been about, anyway? It had never happened before, getting locked in his memories. Maybe he'd ask Hermione about it in a letter. She'd have a book for him.

Harry slumped further into the warm chair and looked around. The room he'd been given to stay in was large. His bed was a queen and surrounded by dark walls, with blue curtains along the window and a lighter hardwood floor. The room even had its own bathroom. He liked that part. When he'd been here as a student, he'd always had to share a bathroom with the other boys - and the Quidditch locker room with the other houses. It made wanking impossible, though that hadn't really been a problem until his later years… and it wasn't really important.

If he was awful at teaching, though, he really had better quit. It wasn't fair to use his name to get along in life when things got tough.

Harry breathed out slow and spelled a quill and parchment over and began to write that letter to Hermione.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How've you been? Sorry I haven't written in a while. I'm trying to get used to teaching… My first class was a disaster. They did exactly what you said they would. But. Something odd happened. I sort of got stuck in my head. I couldn't move, and my mouth felt like it was full of water. Any ideas? If you're free_

The fireplace in front of him burst into sudden light. Harry's quill slipped and the 'e' in 'free' found itself with a large loop, scrawling onto his lap. Fluorescent green flames trashed against his ceiling, turning darker as they bursted upwards. It made his green eyes glow an unearthy colour. Cold air flew in as the rush forced the windows open. It swirled the flames around, mixing with the sudden heat.

Harry stared from his chair as the shape of a tall body formed in his fireplace.

"Who - "

A long, snarly face sauntered through the fire.

"Potter," the voice was far colder than the air outside.

Harry blinked a few times.

"_Malfoy_?"

"Observant as ever I see," he said, snide, as he stepped farther into the room.

From that pointed nose to those thin fingers, it was Draco Malfoy alright. He was blond and tall and fit, just like Harry remembered. The sarcasm, though, assured him more than anything. It was simple enough for a witch or wizard to copy looks, but Harry doubted anyone but the real Malfoy could talk down to him like such a prat.

"What - What are you doing in my room?"

Dark eyes levelled over him and Harry found himself thumbing his pocket.

"I want my wand back."

It was weird hearing his voice again. Even after five years, it instantly made Harry uneasy.

"That was nearly five years ago," he said, no bite to it, just a fact.

But Malfoy's temper was hot, his voice thick, "I still want it. It's mine."

"It's mine, actually," Harry said, standing up and still thumbing the wand through his trousers. "Won it, remember?"

"Stole is more like it, "Malfoy replied, "Give it."

Harry kept his guard up, but a question fought its way through, "How did you use the floo network to get in here? It's supposed to be impossible."

"Are you going to shut up?" Malfoy was tapping his foot. What a prat! "I came for my wand, not a terrible conversation, though I know you give them brilliantly."

His question ignored, Harry furrowed his eyebrows and snapped, tone sharper. "Look, you can't just pop into my bedroom and demand things like some sodding - " But he bit his tongue, stopping the insult. He wasn't going to banter. That was all years and years ago. He was going to keep calm. This was very weird, anyway. He sort of hoped he was dreaming, and he sort of didn't want to be having a dream about Malfoy.

"Just get out, this is my bedroom," Harry said, keeping calm and as indifferent as he could.

"Duel me," Malfoy sniffed, "And I'll leave."

"No."

With a flash of white light that blocked out his hissing face, the blond let out a surge of wordless magic that would have blown Harry's head clean off if he hadn't stuck up his own wand and parried the attack. The room went quiet quickly after, stagnant, but Malfoy's grey eyes were on Harry's wand - and he looked about to be sick.

"You still use it!" He shrieked, and sent a short red blast at him. Harry flicked it away, but very nearly missed, having not duelled since he'd been canned. "My wand! With your filthy do-gooder hands!" Malfoy sent six more red blasts, and each was hotter than the one before it.

Harry could barely believe what was happening in his room. Who did Malfoy think he was? _Still a knob, clearly_.

"Malfoy," Harry started, and raised the wand. "Get over it."

The blond wizard wasn't listening. "Ten inches exactly, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair, and fantastically bendy," he said, almost cooing, "And it's being used by someone so sickeningly kind." His eyes flicked from the hawthorn to Harry. "I bet you're driving it mad, Potter."

"How could anyone drive a wand mad?"

"You could drive _anything_ mad."

Harry had had enough. "This is ridiculous, Malfoy. Get out," he said, pointing at the fireplace.

"_Incaendi Sphera_!" The blond hissed. A large ball of hot light came spinning towards Harry's green eyes.

"_Aresto Momentum_!" It slowed, and Harry found himself again grateful to an old friend. "_Lethe_," he continued, and the light stretched out like a dying star and disappeared into nothing. Then he looked impatiently at Malfoy. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

He raised his wand. "Oh don't you know?"

"What?"

"_In Objectum_," Malfoy said with a twisted smirk, and flicked his wand from the stone wall to Harry's head. A section of the wall broke free with a crack.

Harry's eyes widened quickly. His heart kicked. It was hanging in the air and Malfoy was smirking and Harry breathed, "_Reverto_," just before the stone killed him. It fell back into the wall peacefully.

The pout along the blond's lips was awful, spoilt, and pathetic. He glared at Harry, and then flicked his wand from the chair by his fire to his head. "_In Objectum_," Malfoy said again, and he sent it flying.

"_Reverto!" _Harry shouted, quicker this time, and the seat landed back on the floor. Annoyed because Malfoy was using the same spell over and over - annoyed that Malfoy was even there at all, Harry hissed, "Leave! Get out!"

The blond snarled at that and lifted his wand again, sending the mirror over the fireplace spinning towards him like a discus made of sharp glass and thick metal. Harry moved to counter and send the mirror back to its place on the wall, but as he did Malfoy had another spell lifting off his lips. Whatever the spell was (Harry had been too focused on his coming hand-shake with Death to hear it), it drained water from the sink in the bathroom, turned each drop into thin strands, sharp enough to kill; Malfoy sent them from the bathroom straight for Harry's chest while the mirror continued spinning towards his neck.

Harry jumped for his bed, smashing his chin off the post. The mirror collided with a wall, shattering, and the razor-sharp water-drops sliced thin holes in the stone.

He took a shaky breath. "That would've killed me!"

Malfoy was over him in an instant, grey eyes alight with dangerous freedom, no registration of any consequence. Wand pointed at Harry's, he whispered, "_Expelliarmus._"

Harry rolled over off his sheets, the disarming spelling missing and hitting his bed harmlessly. He stood and screamed quietly, "You can't use that! It's mine!" He wasn't sure how exactly anyone could own a spell, but certainly he had more right to it than Malfoy.

"_Expelli _- "

Harry's lips curled. "_Levicorpus__!_"

The blond screeched as he was flipped upside down, hanging by his ankles. It would have been funny, but Harry wasn't in a laughing mood.

Face red from anger or blood rushing to it, Malfoy said, "I am going to murder you, Potter."

"Get the hell out of my room!"

"Let me go then."

Harry released the spell.

Malfoy fell on his back but raised his wand instantly and shouted, "_Incendio_!"

Harry was ready for a blast of fire, but it didn't come. He looked down, and there were small strips of fire burning at his feet, not the welling form that should have emerged from the spell. He yelped as a thousand sparks bit at his ankles.

"Ow!" He kicked, but they continued ticking at his his skin. "What are you playing at, Malfoy? I - " He couldn't get the insult out, because the tiny fireballs were working up his legs. "_Aguamenti_!" He shouted, and sprayed water around him.

"Bloody thing doesn't understand me."

Harry watched as the tails of Malfoy's black robe swished in the heat of green flames, like long feathers on a island bird.

"_Burwick and Broshire's_!"

Just like that, he was gone.


End file.
